Ashes
by writersrefinery
Summary: "When the flame flickers out, you hope the Ashes remain." Based on Rihanna's song, "Love on the Brain" Elliot and Olivia are caught in a destructive but satisfying cycle of intimacy and miscommunication. Set in Season 8. Rated T for language and sexual themes. One shot only!


Author's Note: I was challenged to write a story based on the song "Love on the Brain" by Rihanna and here it is. I know I need to update "After the Rain" and I'm working on finishing that one but in the meantime, here's "Ashes."

This is a **one-shot, not a story,**

This is dedicated to my problematic Rihanna loving little sister Lin.

Hope you all enjoy and **please** leave a review. Second person POV is new for me so curious to see if you like it.

* * *

 **Ashes**

The faint dings of the ascending elevator distract you from your scattered thoughts. Tossing the long bangs out of your face, you rub the excess sleep from your eyes, hoping the lingering exhaustion will disappear. Normally you would've skipped the coffee shop and let your partner bring you a cup instead. It's part of a long-standing tradition of whoever came into work first would bring the coffee, but lately, all those old habits have changed. Nothing has been the way it used to be since you've returned from Oregon and it's shaken you to your core.

There were things in life you could always count on; Munch and his conspiracy theories, Cragen's biting wit, Fin's sarcastic one-liners… and Elliot. Your brooding, sexy, complicated partner always arrived at 8:15 every morning since his divorce, even on days he had to take the kids to school. So when the elevator doors open you know without a doubt he will be right there. Despite the turmoil you both created over the last month, he will be right where he's supposed to be. Sitting across from you, doing paperwork, slowly typing up his DD5's and waiting on the next case.

You, on the other hand, aren't doing so well. It's only been a month since the two of you called it quits. Five weeks, two days and a few hours to be exact since you "broke up" after making the reckless decision to give in to the temptation you flirted with for years.

There was no long conversation about the future or an informed decision you couldn't live without each other when the relationship began and ended. It was a spur of the moment choice made after a tough case and too much wine. One minute the two of you were silent, sitting in the cold desolate confines of his sparsely decorated apartment. The next thing you knew, your shirts were both on the floor, the warmth of his solid chest pressed against your pebbled nipples sending your senses into overdrive. Stumbling to his bedroom, you both made quick work of shedding your remaining clothes, sucking, nipping and tasting one another for the first time. You were intoxicated by his groans of desire as he slipped inside of you, gently rocking his hips while spreading your legs wider. Nerves you never knew existed were awakened and you freefell before realizing you were even close to the edge. The dangerous pattern repeated itself for the next couple of weeks until he finally approached the subject of what the two of you were and that's when it went wrong.

You thought he wanted more and although there was some trepidation, you were willing until you heard so soon after my divorce. The ground tumbled away from your feet. Thinking of the words now make you wince and maybe you shouldn't have had that extra beer last night and curled up with a good book but no. You curled into him instead. He basically said a relationship was off the table, but whenever one of you were so inclined, you used each other. Last night was his turn. You don't know the specifics of why he was upset, but it was after a visit with the kids and Kathleen had been acting out. When he called, you didn't ask for details and when he showed up at the door, he didn't want to talk. The hem of his shirt was in his hands pulling it over his head before the door was even closed. The magnetic connection between you two has only been intensified since you manifested it physically, and now you feel like you're on a train going a million miles an hour towards disaster.

The elevator door opens and your eyes are fixed on your feet as you take the all too familiar steps towards your desk in the squad room. Looking up for a split second, you are pleased to find that his chair is empty but his jacket is there, so he's somewhere close. At least you don't have to look in his eyes before you're completely settled and see the shadow of your kiss on his lips, or the moon shaped indents in his skin from your fingernails.

"Mornin' Liv, don't you look like a ray of sunshine this morning," Munch says with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Shut up John."

"Ouch. You wound me. Another late night?" Munch peers over his glasses eyeing you speculatively and as much as you would like to believe he has no clue what's going on between you and Elliot, he's been a detective far too long to not pick up on the change in dynamic.

"Yeah," you answer simply, flipping open your laptop and staring mindlessly at the words on the screen. A few minutes go by and the low buzz of the room goes silent for an instant. You feel his approach before you hear his footsteps or his voice.

"Mornin' Liv."

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and every fiber of your being is acutely aware of his presence. His tone is casual and to the untrained eye or ear, it would seem like any other morning. Not like a morning after your nails were embedded so deep into his skin as he drove into you relentlessly that you may have drawn blood. Or after there's brand of your teeth on his shoulder from when you bit down trying to muffle your screams when he made you come.

"Morning," you manage to say clearing your throat as he sets down the cup of coffee next to your laptop and walks to his chair. "Thanks."

Elliot shrugs nonchalantly, sitting down and stacking papers on his desk. Trying hard to focus on the hot liquid in your hand, you almost don't notice that although he's shuffling his papers around, there's no real method to the madness. Even though you can't see his legs you know that he's bouncing his right leg, something he only does when he's overly agitated and you wonder what went wrong. He seemed to have burned off some steam by the time he left your apartment in the wee hours of the morning. He attempted to give you a parting kiss on the forehead but you turned around facing the window, tears forming in your eyes because you couldn't stand to watch him leave…again.

You clench the cup, your hands almost burning from the heat of the liquid underneath at the memory of how you felt when you heard the door shut. You smelled like him, his touch tattooed on your skin and he walked away, perfectly prepared to sit across from you today and act as if nothing happened.

Before you realize you're standing up, the coffee is abandoned at your desk and you're heading for the bathroom. Here, people will think you needed to relieve yourself and not suffocating from being in the same room with him. The air is thick and stifling. The more time goes on, each time you both give in to what you should've let go, it's getting harder and harder. Your back is against the bathroom stall door, leaning on it for support fighting the urge to fall to your knees and sob. This used to be Elliot's job. Catching you before you fell, but now you feel that he's the one pushing you down. Whatever it takes, somehow it all has to work itself out. You want this partnership. You need this partnership.

You need him.

"Liv?"

 _Fuck. What is he doing in here?_

Standing up straight, you roll the toilet paper around to create some noise so it seems like you were just finishing up. "Yeah?"

"You ok?"

No.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute." Flushing the toilet, you notice that his footsteps don't retreat and silently curse the fact that there aren't more females that work on this floor. If someone were to come in here, he would have to leave but that's one more stroke of bad luck you seem to have lately.

The sight that greets you when the door opens almost breaks you in two.

His eyes resemble yours and you can't believe you didn't notice it before. They're puffy, baggy and he looks like he was on the other end of a fight and lost. There aren't blue or black bruises, but the wounds are still there. It's like looking in a fucked up fun house mirror. You know what the image should look like, but it's a distorted exaggerated version of yourself. His blue shirt is wrinkled, tie loose around his neck and he's leaning with both arms on the walls of the stall.

"I'm fine Elliot. You can go," you say with as much strength possible. He doesn't allow you to pass and he's so close you feel smothered again. "Are you? Are you okay?"

Stepping back, you take a deep breath and try to not quell the simmering annoyance bubbling beneath the surface. "Is this what you want? Do you want me to fall apart? Well, I'm at work Elliot. Remember that? Work. There's no hope for us but lets at least try to salvage our jobs."

Elliot winces and steps back with his shoulders slumped. You walk to the sink and wash your hands trying to appear completely different than how you feel. In the mirror, you look at his reflection behind you. His eyes hang low, stance frozen. Elliot loved hard, you'd seen it first hand. If only he felt that way for you.

 _Elliot can't move on unless he's on solid ground._

He signed the divorce papers and you thought you gave him that stability, but you feel like you're playing a fucked up game of Tug of War. You're both pulling and not going anywhere. Anytime he gets the slightest advantage you pull back and vice versa, but it doesn't stop you from coming back. The cracks in the pavement of the bathroom wall mirror the fractures of your partnership. Somehow it's barely standing, but you and Elliot won't. This situation will bruise you from the inside out and there will be nothing left but a hollow shell of what you once were.

Elliot approaches you from behind, his body a whisper away from yours and for God's sake why isn't there someone who needs to use the bathroom right now? "How can you say that? Why would I want you to fall apart?"

So you can put me back together again.

The pain in his voice makes your knees buckle and you curse yourself that you're not stronger to withstand this.

To withstand him.

You've prided yourself on not having the addictive behavior of your mother and as you've recently learned, your father. While they both turned to alcohol to numb their pain, you only indulged in drinks after a hard case or at social events. But somehow you've become hooked on your partner. He's like a drug. You're no good without him. You tried like hell in Oregon to quit loving him and failed miserably. Instead, he haunted your dreams and you woke up calling out his name. You dreamed about what you have now. The intimacy of having him beneath you, on top of you, playing your body like a violin and you can't get enough.

You grasp the edge of the sink willing your traitorous body not to give into his proximity. "You need to get out of here before someone comes looking for you."

Elliot shakes his head and moves an inch closer. You both exhale at the feel of his chest against your back. It's relief, desire, comfort and reassurance all wrapped into one breath. "You need to go El," you rasp as your head somehow leans back onto his shoulder.

You're fist fighting with fire and bound to get burned. The two of you can't be this close anymore without all the lust you're fighting against triumphantly conquering you.

"I know I should walk out that door," he whispers, the heat of his lips millimeters from your neck. You shift around uncomfortably in your black blazer, sweat beginning to dampen your brow. It's too hot in here. Whether it's from the feel of his rough calloused fingers against your smooth skin or the temperature in the bathroom, you're going to burn. It's just a matter of how much.

"What do you want from me?" It's all you want to know. All the words you can form in this instance. Your colleagues are around the corner, your captain not much further than that, but you feel yourself caving.

"I still need to—I'm trying to—. Shit," he curses as his lips connect with your skin. "I don't want to mess this up."

You chuckle bitterly while your hand grips his thigh. "It's already messed up."

"No Liv, that's not—"

A loud bang on the door jerks you both upright.

"Liv you ok in there?"

You should speak but a large knot in your throat has frozen your vocal chords.

The doorknob twists and it's then you realize Elliot locked the door. Your eyes widen in panic and Elliot somehow finds his voice. "She's good Fin."

He moves in quick bursts around you, turning on the water and turning you back towards the sink before he opens the door. For good measure, you're splashing water on your face at the same moment Fin walks in. Thankfully, you can't see the suspicious looks he's probably giving you both or whatever silent exchange has passed between him and Elliot.

"I got a little sick but I'll be out in a minute," you lie while drying your hands. "I'll be fine."

"Good. Cragen's looking for you two. Rape homicide on the Upper East Side. You guys are up." Fin stares at you for a second, then Elliot before turning and walking out without another word.

"Liv—"

"Let's go."

You don't meet his gaze, walking past him thankful that he doesn't reach out and weaken the last bit of resolve you have left. But he doesn't.

As you both work the crime scene, taking witness statements, talking with Melinda, you're careful not to touch. Your words are clipped, all business, no passing glances. The bite of the chilly air provides just the amount of pain you need to distract from his presence and manage to stay professional. If anyone notices a difference in the two of you, they act normal and that's what you need most of all.

Normalcy in the midst of this chaos.

Back at the station a few hours later the paperwork is complete, and you've finished everything possible for the night. Rolling your neck, you try to massage the kinks out. Your fingers massage deep into your skin and when you look up, he's staring. It's late. The room is almost empty. The muted glow from the desk lamps is the only light in the room.

Elliot glances towards Cragen's office and stands, grabbing his jacket. "Take you home?" he tries to ask casually.

You take another sip of the cold coffee sitting next to you and type on the laptop as if you have more to do. "That's okay I'll finish up here."

"What else do you have left?"

He rounds the desk, perching on the end, his knee close to your left hand. "Just gotta finish this umm—this." Huffing, you scratch your forehead frustrated at your less than stellar attempt at lying.

Elliot stands up, removing your jacket the chair. "C'mon. We need to talk. Let me take you home."

You let out a heavy sigh, fighting every urge inside of you. "No thanks. I'll grab a cab."

You can't meet his eyes and he sighs in defeat, setting the jacket back down on the desk. "Okay then. Good night."

Your eyes are trained on the worn heels of his shoes as he walks away. You relax right away hearing the elevator door open and close knowing he's inside.

You're torn and drained of it all. You thought coming back would be hard, but it's nothing like this. You have a piece of him, granted a big piece if you're being honest, but it's not the part of him you want. You want to get into his heart. It's surreal that you, Detective Olivia Benson that runs away from commitment and relationships, somehow envisions a house, family, and kids, every time you look into his intense blue eyes.

"Hey what are you still doing here?"

Cragen's voice startles you. Immediately you begin shuffling papers on your desk to look as if you were working but he probably saw you resting your head in your hands. "I'm wrapping some stuff up Cap'n. I'm about to head out."

His pause is long enough that you look up and see the concern etched on his face. He thinks for a second, weight shifting on one leg and puts his hands in his pockets. "I haven't said anything to the two of you and I won't until it becomes necessary."

"Cap—"

He holds up his hand, cueing you to stop speaking. "When you asked for a new partner, I didn't ask anything. I went along with it. When you went to Oregon, I went along with it even though he took it hard. You think it was easy to stand back and watch him wither away? You were gone. Kathy was gone. He was a shell of himself for a long time."

Your head drops, trying like hell to fight the tears that spring to the surface. The last thing you want to do is confirm what he already suspects.

"Somehow you two are managing to still be my two best detectives, despite what's going on between the two of you."

There's no point in denying it because he's done too much for the both of you to betray him by lying straight to his face.

He sits on the corner of your desk, as Elliot did minutes before. "You guys are barely hanging on. One way or another, you can't be partners for much longer."

And that does it, the tears begin to fall silently down your cheeks. Was it even all worth it? You gave in, trying to buy his heart but the price is too high. No longer partners. Now you won't have him by your side or in your bed.

 _It's so soon_

 _I just don't want to mess it up_

 _I don't wanna wreck that. I couldn't take it_

Everything he's said in the past year, before and after you slept together is on a loop in your head. You've gambled and lost it all.

"Go talk to him," Cragen interrupts your musing. "Fix it Olivia. That's an order." Before you can explain, he's already disappeared and you're alone. Again.

Thirty minutes later you're at home, trying to wash the day off. Cragen's words, Elliot's lips on your neck, the tears that seem to flow nonstop, you watch it all wash down the drain. Wrapped in a towel, you sit on the edge of the bed, the tennis shoes by the closet door calling your name. The plan was to shower, read the copy of "Eat Pray Love" on the nightstand until you fell asleep but there's no use in kidding yourself. Sleep won't come tonight. Not if he's not beside you. You don't recognize the spirit that seems to have overtaken you.

Must be temporary insanity.

Your t-shirt, jeans, shoes and jacket are on in a second and instead of taking a cab; you decide to go there on foot. You need the time to work through the what's going on in your head. It's late and about twenty blocks to his place but it doesn't matter. You'd run for miles just to get a taste of him.

Must be fleeting madness.

Once you turn the corner and his place comes into view, your pulse quickens. Thankfully, someone is walking in at the same time you're walking up the steps so he doesn't have to buzz you in.

Back in an elevator, you have a sense of deja vu watching as the numbers ding, taking you up to his apartment and to a kind of doom similar to this morning. You're not sure if you will tell him about your conversation with Cragen and that the end of your partnership is near. You're not sure what you're doing here except that you want to see him. Need to see him.

There are only two knocks before the door flies open and he's standing before you. His brow furrows, his receding hairline more prominent in his casual attire and now you notice how much you've both aged over the past year. His momentary lapse of confusion gives way to a sideways smirk. His muscles bulge in his navy t-shirt and dark jeans and you have to swallow back your desire. You came here to talk, to somehow figure this out this mess but your mind goes somewhere else.

He scratches his chin, while his gaze starts at your feet and works its way up.

"Can I come in?" you finally ask.

He steps back, opening the door wider for you to walk in. Despite the sparse furnishings, there's something about his place that feels like home.

He waits you out, watching closely as your hands go into your pockets and look around. "You want something to drink?"

Yes.

"No, that's okay," you wave him off.

He nods and gestures for you to sit down on the worn brown leather couch in the middle of the room. At first, he sits across from you in an old recliner as you rub your hands together trying to figure out where to begin.

When the words don't come after a minute, he places the beer bottle on the table and sits next to you.

His proximity is both disarming and soothing, giving you the courage to say something. "I wish I knew what to say or how to say it."

He chuckles, scrubbing his hand down his face. "Me too. Seems like every time I open my mouth I say the wrong thing."

No shit.

There an ocean of issues between you but one thing that keeps the two of you together.

Love.

You rub his knee and his breathing becomes heavy. If there's one thing the two of you have never been good at is talking but it has to happen…eventually. Soon.

But right now, you want to explore the intense intimacy that exists between the two of you. It has the power to say more than the words either of you can form. Without a word, you take his hand and he follows you down the dark hallway to his bedroom. Your footsteps are perfectly in sync, as they are at work.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and as he begins to undress and you close your eyes. You silently pray that when this flame flickers out that at least ashes will remain. Hopefully there will be some remnants of your relationship that exists forever.

You don't know why you're caving. Why you're letting the both of you take the long way rather than a shortcut to the destination that's right there within reach.

Must be love on the brain.


End file.
